


blooming through the cracks

by dreamtiwasanarchitect



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Animals, Bars and Pubs, Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Cooking, Dating, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Enthusiastic Consent, First Meetings, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Joe vs. Adulting, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Making Out, Nicky vs. the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Self-Esteem Issues, Spanking, Texting, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtiwasanarchitect/pseuds/dreamtiwasanarchitect
Summary: A guy walks into a (very weird) bar, and he meets the love of his life. They bang in the bathroom first, though.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 164
Kudos: 297
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2021





	1. february (i)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noirred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noirred/gifts).



> This is my Fandom Trumps Hate gift for the lovely Felicity! This has been such fun to work on and I hope you like it. ❤️

“Booker,” Joe yells over the weird techno-jazz that’s pumping in from the speakers, “what the fuck is this place?”

Booker looks almost hurt. “It’s my spot,” he says. “What, you don’t like it?”

Joe looks around. The bar-slash-club has an aesthetic that’s kind of steampunk, but also just a little punk, offset by random touches of mid-century modern and western decor. It’s completely baffling, but even though it’s a hot mess, the overall effect is nice enough if Joe doesn’t think about it too much, which was kind of how he feels about Booker, too. 

“It’s fine. Just figured your spot would be more of a bar-grill type of place.” 

Booker grins and gestures him forward to the bar. 

The bar menu is all pre-prohibition style cocktails. Joe orders a manhattan and at the first sip, he realizes why _this_ is Booker’s watering hole of choice.

“These drinks are fucking strong,” Joe says. 

“I know,” Booker says cheerfully, somehow already halfway through his old fashioned.

Joe sets his drink down on the bar. He doesn’t imbibe much, so he’s going to need to take it slow if he doesn’t want to start his first day at the new job tomorrow with a wicked hangover. He surveys the other patrons and finds they’re as mismatched as the bar itself—there’s a group of men in suits gathered around a hightop, a gaggle of college kids grinding in a mass on the dance floor, and a booth full of people dressed in street-legal fetish wear. 

What the fuck, he thinks, and takes another long drink. 

Then Joe sees _him_ , and he stops thinking altogether.

Him is a guy with floppy brown hair, a face like a Grecian statue, and the ass of an angel—Joe gets a good but fleeting look as the guy turns to maneuver around the dance floor. He’s wearing the most generic outfit Joe’s ever seen, but in this crowd it actually makes him stand out more, not less. 

He’s also headed toward the bar.

“Booker,” Joe hisses, and Booker looks up from his second old fashioned. “Do you know that guy—no, fuck, don’t look, don’t be obvious!”

Booker raises an eyebrow. “The dude in the green t-shirt?”

Joe hadn’t even noticed the color, but he sneaks another quick look. “Yes.”

“Nope. Never seen him before in my life. Why—oh.” Booker grins.

“Shut up, and be cool,” Joe says. He hastily looks down at his drink, trying to project a strong aura of non-creepiness. There’s a gap between Joe and the next group clustered by the bar, so the man ends up standing right next to Joe. 

Joe quickly drains his drink—liquid courage, and verisimilitude—and turns to the man. “Hey,” he says. 

The man shifts, and God, Joe thinks, his eyes—they’re huge and luminous blue-green, and Joe can’t believe this guy is somehow even hotter up close.

“Hi,” the man says. His face is cool and not particularly friendly, but Joe chooses to believe he’s not imagining the way the guy’s eyes linger on the triangle of Joe’s chest that’s peeking through the top two undone buttons of his shirt. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t turn away either, and Joe realizes he’s probably waiting for Joe to say something else.

“Um,” he says quickly. “Can I get your next round?” 

“I was about to close out,” the man says, and fuck, fuck, he has an _accent_. 

“Oh, uh, okay.” Joe scrambles for something to say, but he just stares stupidly as the man signs the receipt and takes his card from the bartender. 

Joe is ready to spend the rest of the night drinking away his disappointment when the man turns back to him and gives him a long, searching look. “I don’t have to go yet, though.”

“Oh! Do—do you want to dance?” Joe blurts, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and if he can get his hands on the guy, all the better.

The man nods and Joe pushes off from the bar counter. He sneaks a quick look at Booker, who is smirking into his drink. 

Joe follows the man to the dance floor, and they stand facing each other. Joe realizes that since he’s the one who asked, the guy’s probably waiting on him to take the lead. Careful to telegraph his movements, Joe slides his arm around the small of the man’s back, bringing them a little closer together—close enough that Joe can smell him, and he smells fucking good.

The music hasn’t changed from—whatever the fuck it is. Joe tries to sneak a glance at the people around them. It’s still mostly drunk coeds rubbing up on each other furiously, but there’s also an older couple doing the Charleston. 

“Um.” Joe leans in to speak into the man’s ear, since the music is even more deafening in this particular spot. “I don’t really know how to dance to this,” he admits.

Their cheeks brush a little as the man turns to reply. “I don’t know how to dance at all.” Joe shivers a little at the warm breath on his ear. 

He cranes his neck back and sees the guy is smiling, just an enigmatic little curve of his pretty mouth. Joe cracks a smile too, then the man seizes Joe’s wrist and pulls him toward the bathroom. 

Joe’s heart races. It’s a single-stall bathroom, which maybe doesn’t even matter a little bit, because maybe the guy just wants to talk somewhere quieter, but then he locks the door and pushes Joe up against it and kisses him.

Joe has kissed his fair share of men, and this guy is definitely in the top five. It’s a hard kiss but not messy—which is nice, because Joe can’t stand having his mouth slobbered on—with just a hint of tongue. The guy’s lips are soft, too, and he tastes a little boozy, but Joe doesn’t mind, since he probably has the same thing going for him. He cups the guy’s jaw, lets his fingers thread through his silky hair, and he tries to give as good as he gets. Top three, he mentally revises. 

When they break apart, the man’s lips are red from the kiss, and his face is flushed. He takes a step back, and Joe frowns.

“Everything okay?”

“I was going to ask you that,” the man says.

“Yes. Very. Can we do it some more?”

The man bites his lip, nodding. “Yes.”

Joe surges forward and gets his hands on the guy’s ass, which, even through the jeans, feels as good as it looks. Joe lifts him up on the sink and grins. 

“ _This_ okay?”

The man nods again. “Very.” The little smile is back.

Joe wants to kiss it off his lips until the guy moans his name, which reminds him—

“I’m Joe,” he says.

The man looks momentarily surprised. “Nicky,” he tells Joe.

“Nicky,” Joe murmurs, mostly to himself, though he doesn’t miss the way it makes Nicky shift even closer to him. “How do you feel about biting, Nicky?”

“Ah—yes,” Nicky says, and he already sounds a little breathy, but Joe wants to fuck Nicky until he can’t even talk at all, so Joe bites at his lips, his jaw, his neck, harder and harder because Nicky is making _noises_ , needy whimpering sounds that egg Joe on until he’s sucked at least two different hickeys into the creamy paleness of Nicky’s neck. 

“Um,” he says, when he realizes what he’s done, “you might need to wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow—”

“Good,” Nicky purrs, and Joe’s cock, which has been hard since Nicky pushed him up against the door, twitches in his jeans. 

“You like it a little rough, Nicky?” Joe teases as he reaches a hand up Nicky’s shirt to feel at the lean, smooth skin.

“Yes,” Nicky says, pupils blown. Joe is going to die. He pinches at a nipple and Nicky throws his head back with a loud moan. 

“Fuck,” Joe mutters. He hisses as Nicky fumbles at his belt and starts to return the favor. It’s an uncoordinated effort on both their parts, but eventually both Nicky and Joe’s jeans and underwear are pushed down around their thighs, and Joe takes a minute just to admire Nicky’s cock. He’s big, and he’s uncut, which Joe was not expecting, but it just makes him want to get it in his mouth even more. 

Before he can even think about it, though, Nicky licks the palm of one of his—also big, Joe notices—hands and wraps it around both of their cocks.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Joe groans, and he covers Nicky’s hand with one of his own. Nicky leans in for a kiss, but Joe fists his other hand in his hair and tugs before he can make contact. 

Nicky whines, another sound that goes straight to Joe’s cock. He flicks his tongue over Nicky’s lips before pulling Nicky’s head back to suck a hickey or two into the other side of his neck. Nicky’s other hand shoves up the front of Joe’s shirt and starts stroking up and down Joe’s abs.

“These are nice,” Nicky breathes, and he shoots Joe a quick, crooked grin before he scratches lightly at one of Joe’s pecs. 

“Thanks,” Joe says. He winks, trying to play it cool, but he suddenly feels like every hour at the gym was worth it. He pulls Nicky in for a real kiss, and before they come up for air Nicky comes in their hands. The added slick is all it takes to send Joe over the edge, too.

They’re quiet as they catch their breath. Joe steps back and lets Nicky hop down from the sink. They wash their hands and exchange quick, almost shy looks in the mirror. Joe grabs a paper towel for himself and one for Nicky. Their sticky stomachs are cleaned easily enough, but there’s some come on Joe’s shirt that’s going to need a better cleaning than he can really give it right now. 

He can’t believe he just got off in a bar bathroom with some guy he just met, but however weird it all is, he doesn’t want it to be over. 

“Nicky,” Joe says before he can think better of it, and Nicky looks up from buttoning his jeans. “Want to go home with me?”

Now that he’s said it out loud, it sounds even crazier. He braces himself for the inevitable rejection, probably in the form of a perfectly reasonable excuse (“I have to work tomorrow” comes to mind), but Nicky just says, “Yes.”

Joe grins. “Yeah?”

Nicky returns it, straight white teeth flashing through his lopsided smile. 

They open the bathroom door to find a small crowd has formed. Several people glare, but several others—the wasted college kids—start applauding as Joe and Nicky shuffle out, determinedly avoiding each other’s eyes.

———

Joe’s alarm goes off at six thirty, pulling him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He slaps at his phone in confusion. Why the _fuck_ is his alarm going off at six-thirty? Anything earlier than eight is unreasonable. 

Then he remembers—today’s his first day at Reach Arts. He surges upright, and then he remembers something else, and it seems equally important. 

Nicky’s in his bed. 

Last night, after Joe said a hurried goodbye to Booker, they grabbed their coats took a cab back to Joe’s, just because Joe complained about the cold, ten-minute walk that awaited them—Nicky even paid—and they made out in the backseat the whole time. They shed their clothes the minute the door to Joe’s apartment closed behind them, and then Nicky gave Joe the best blowjob he’d ever had, which was only made hotter by watching Nicky get himself off from humping against Joe’s leg while he choked on his cock. By the time they collapsed into Joe’s bed, it was well past midnight (and the bedtime Joe had given himself when he agreed to go out with Booker in the first place). 

Nicky's still asleep, curled on his side and looking just as beautiful as he had last night. Fuck. The man was a walking wet dream. Joe itches to dive back under the covers and wrap his body around Nicky’s, but he reminds himself that living-wage jobs at nonprofits did not come around every day and, with great reluctance, hauls himself out of bed.

Once he’s in the shower, it’s easier to psych himself up, though his thoughts keep drifting back to last night, to Nicky, as he tries to process the fact that not only did he hook up with a complete stranger in a bar bathroom, he took that stranger home and hooked up with him again. 

He wonders if Nicky will be equally baffled by what they’ve done, or if this will be just another Sunday night-turned-Monday morning for him. Joe thinks back to the greedy look in Nicky’s eyes as he took all of Joe’s cock and has to remind himself he doesn’t have time to masturbate in the shower today. 

Nicky doesn’t stir when Joe creeps back into the bedroom. He gets dressed as quietly as he can before he pads into the kitchen, careful not to clink around too loudly as he starts the coffee. He downs two cups while he nervously re-reads his new boss’s email with instructions for his first day. 

Joe brushes his teeth and debates waking Nicky up. For one thing, leaving a stranger in his apartment is a very stupid thing to do, and for another, Nicky might have forgotten to set an alarm, or his phone might be dead. But Joe doesn’t have anything worth stealing, and he’s not sure he can handle the stress of an awkward morning-after interaction on top of his first-day jitters. 

In the end, he scribbles a note for Nicky, saying he had fun last night and asking him to use Joe’s spare key to lock up behind him when he leaves. Joe writes down his number, too, and then rests a steaming mug of coffee on top of the scrap of paper, hoping the smell will lure Nicky into wakefulness shortly after he leaves. Before he can second-guess his decision, Joe throws on his shoes and coat and heads out the door. 

The bus ride to the co-working space goes faster than anticipated, and Joe arrives at seven fifty-six. His mother would be proud of his punctuality, but the door’s locked and of course he doesn’t have a key yet. So Joe stands there like an asshole in the below-freezing temps for about ten minutes before a tall Black woman walks up, looking at him curiously. 

“Oh—Joe?” she asks, and he realizes it’s his boss.

Nile looks younger in person than she had on Zoom, but no less friendly. Joe smiles and holds out his hand. “Yeah, uh, morning.” 

She takes it briefly and gives him a dazzling smile. “Good to meet you face-to-face! Have you been waiting out here long?” 

“Oh, no,” Joe lies quickly. Nile unlocks the door and holds it open for him.

“I just realized—I didn’t tell you what time to be here, did I?” she asks as they wait for the elevator. “Usually no one’s in before nine. I just came a little early to get your desk ready—so, sorry in advance.” She pulls a face. 

The news that he won’t be expected to show up at this time every day is so welcome Joe is no longer grumpy about today’s early wake-up call or waiting in the cold. He grins. “That’s okay.”

Together, they set up Joe’s desk and computer—a new MacBook Pro, complete with Creative Suite—then Nile shows him around their tiny space, taking care to explain the intricacies of the years-old espresso machine. Just as he’s got the lay of the land, the other employees start showing up. Nile introduces him to Brit, who runs social media and does most of the content and copywriting; Jordan, who works with Nile on sponsorships and donor relations; and Teyonah, who handles school outreach. Everyone is young and artfully disheveled, but they seem enthusiastic about their jobs and genuinely glad to have Joe on board. 

Nile gets him the logins to their site and sets him the task of auditing the entire thing. “I know it’s not great,” she says. “I pretty much built it all myself when we started, so it could use a creative eye. And we’re not attached to SquareSpace if you want to use another platform.”

“Okay, cool,” Joe says. He sips his coffee and settles in. The morning flies by, and everyone’s started discussing lunch plans when the door opens, and Joe’s jaw drops.

It’s Nicky. 

Joe’s brain short-circuits as it tries to come up for an explanation—does Nicky work here, too? Did he track Joe down? And if so, is that cute, or terrifying? 

Nicky’s waving to Jordan when he notices Joe and freezes, not full-on deer in the headlights, but very close. Okay, so he’s not stalking him, but Joe’s just as confused as ever when Nile pops out of her small office. 

“Hey Nicky,” she says, shrugging on her coat. “You ready?” 

Nicky tears his gaze away from Joe and nods. 

Nile’s eyes are sharp, and Joe has a feeling she’s noticed something’s up, but all she says is, “Joe, I’m going out to lunch—these clowns can show you what’s good around here. I’ll be back around one for our call with the board members.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Joe says, attempting to sound normal. Are Nicky and Nile _dating_? He’s not necessarily getting couple vibes, but that could be explained by Nicky being very obviously into cock.

They walk away, but Nicky glances over his shoulder, and he and Joe have another second of vague eye contact before Brit starts asking Joe what type of food he likes. He tries to be grateful that no one else noticed the weird tension between him and Nicky. He tells himself that whatever’s going on, the job has to come first—but that doesn’t stop him from staring at Nicky’s ass until it’s out of sight. Regretfully, it’s as good as he remembers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you think in the comments! You can also catch me on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


	2. february (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love, y'all!

“So why were you vibing my new designer like that?” Nile demands the minute they get in the elevator. 

Nicky thought waking up late in a stranger’s bed would be the most disorienting part of his day, but it only took four hours for him to be proven wrong. 

“He—he works for you?”

“Yep,” Nile says. “So what’s the deal? Should I be worried?”

“No!” Nicky says quickly. “I—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I woke up in his bed this morning,” he admits, voice pitched low even though they’re alone in the tiny elevator.

Nile screeches. “No! No fucking way!” 

Nicky nods, face on fire.

“Oh my God,” Nile laughs. “That’s amazing. And, I mean, this feels a little wrong of me to say, since I’m his boss, but. Good for you.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Nicky begs. 

Nile giggles until they’re out of the building. “Okay, but I need details,” she says as they walk to their favorite Thai place. 

Nicky sighs. “I was at that bar on fifty-sixth—”

“The one that can’t pick an aesthetic? Ew, Nicky.”

“Do you want to hear about it or not?”

“Sorry, sorry, continue!” 

Nicky pauses while they walk into the restaurant and find a seat at one of the creaky little tables. “I was leaving,” he says. “But then when I went to close my tab, he—Joe—he was at the bar, and he asked to buy me a drink.”

Nile’s eyes gleam with delight. “And you let him?”

“Well. No. But. We, ah, hung out for a bit.” Which is quite the euphemism for “fucked in the bathroom,” but as a human resources professional, Nicky doesn’t feel right sharing the details of their night with Joe’s boss, even if she is one of his closest friends.

Nile seems to get the gist anyway. “ _Oh my god_. And—it was good? It must have been good, if you went home with him, you never do shit like that! Jesus, Nicky.”

Nicky fiddles with the napkin holder. “It was good,” he confirms. 

“Did you talk this morning?”

Nicky shakes his head. “He was gone when I woke up.”

Nile laughs. “What the fuck, he left you alone in his place?”

“He left me a key to lock up with. And coffee.”

Nile raises her eyebrows. “Well, well. So is it going to be, you know, a thing?”

Nicky bites his lip. “He did give me his number.” 

“You should text him, both because he’s hot and I can tell you’re into him, and because I have to spend all week onboarding him, and I don’t want shit to be weird.” 

Nicky taps at his phone and pulls up Joe’s contact info, which he’d entered into his phone embarrassingly quickly. “Now?”

“No time like the present,” Nile says cheerfully. Someone comes to take their order, and Nile orders for both of them while Nicky taps out a text.

_Hi, Joe. It’s Nicky. I’m sorry if it was weird earlier—I didn’t realize you worked there. Nile is an old coworker/good friend of mine. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I had fun last night, too._

He hits send before he can overthink it, and Nile leans forward to read it. 

“Oh, Nicky,” she laughs. “You can’t turn it off, can you?”

“Turn what off?”

“Sounding like HR,” she says.

“Fuck off,” he tells her, grinning, then his phone lights up with a reply from Joe, and he seizes his it from the table before Nile can read it.

 _Its okay!!_ Joe writes. _Small world I guess! Id love to see you again sometime, if you want._

“Ooh, Nicky,” Nile croons. 

He looks up from his phone. “What?” he asks defensively.

“You got it bad, bro.” She smirks, and Nicky can’t even argue, because he’s already writing back.

_I do. Are you free Wednesday?_

———

When he gets home from work on Wednesday, Nicky showers and changes into the tightest jeans he owns. He spends minimal time choosing the rest of his outfit—if the pants are as good as exes have told him they are, they’ll be the only part of the outfit that matters to Joe, anyway.

He pulls up to Joe’s apartment and opens his texts. _I’m here_ , he writes.

A minute later, Joe comes bounding out of his building, and he’s even hotter than Nicky remembered. He tries not to ogle him too much as he gets in the car, but he suspects Joe’s sartorial choices were just as intentional as Nicky’s—there’s no way he wears a shirt that tight every day. 

“Hi,” Joe says, and smiles. Fuck, his dimples.

“Hi,” Nicky says. “It’s good to see you again.” He smiles back, but inside he cringes—Nile was right, he clearly doesn’t know how to turn off his HR persona.

“Agreed,” Joe says cheerfully as he buckles himself in. Nicky pulls away and tries to think of something he can ask Joe that won’t make it sound like he’s interviewing him for a job, but luckily Joe breaks the shy silence that’s hanging between them.

“It’s kind of wild that you own a car. In California, my friends and I all took public transit.” 

Nicky’s only been to California once—wine country, with a guy he broke up with two months later. “Where in California are you from?”

“Bay Area. Traffic is insane there. I mean, the BART isn’t much better, but at least it’s a cheaper way to spend hours every day waiting on traffic.”

“That sounds terrible.” 

“I definitely don’t miss it,” Joe says. “Though I already miss the weather.”

“You’ll adapt,” Nicky tells him. “I hated it when I moved, too.” 

“How long did it take you?”

“I came here for uni, and by the time I graduated, I was used to it.”

“Four years?” Joe groans.

Nicky shrugs. “It’ll go fast.” 

Joe hums. “Maybe I just need someone to keep me warm in the meantime.” 

Nicky sucks at the inside of his cheek. “And are you currently accepting applications?”

“Yes.” Joe grins. “Prior experience preferred, but not required.” 

“You’ll find I’m very qualified,” Nicky says drily.

“I’ll bet,” Joe says, and the low rumble of his voice makes Nicky’s breath hitch.

By then they’ve arrived at the restaurant, which is good, because Nicky’s less than five seconds away from pulling over in an alley to blow Joe right there in his car. 

“We’re here,” he says. Parking is hard to come by in front of the actual restaurant, so they’re a few blocks away. 

“Wow,” Joe says when he spots the line out the door. “Wasn’t expecting a vegetarian spot to see so much action.” 

“It’s got a cult following,” Nicky tells him. “And they take forever to ring up orders, thus the line, but I promise, it’s worth it.” 

“I believe you,” Joe reassures him. They queue up and Joe takes Nicky’s gloved hand in his. “This okay?” he asks quietly.

Nicky flashes back to the bar bathroom—to pressing Joe against the door, to being lifted up on the sink—and he smiles a little. “Very.”

Joe beams back.

The line moves faster than normal—maybe the owners were a bit more motivated knowing they had people standing in the open door, letting in the cold winter air—and soon it’s their turn to order. 

Nicky recommends the Gouda mac and cheese to Joe, but he gets the vegan tomato soup and a scone for himself. All of the weird mac and cheeses are delightful, and normally worth the flare-up the influx of dairy causes, but Nicky has hopes for tonight that don’t involve terrible cramps. 

“So,” Nicky asks as they sit down with their trays in a tiny corner table. “What made you want to move here?” He blows on his soup. 

“The job, basically,” Joe says. He’s still wearing his coat and gloves, but he hums in delight when he takes a bite of mac and cheese. “This is amazing, by the way,” he says, gesturing with his fork. “Anyway, I dropped out of art school years ago and I never really found anything that made sense with the cost of living in the Bay Area. Booker, one of my friends from undergrad, told me about the job at Reach—his kids took some summer classes through their programs. I didn’t really have much keeping me there—I mean, my parents are there, but I can always go visit.” Joe shrugs and takes another bite. 

“I’m biased, but I think Reach is a great place to work. Nile is wonderful.”

“She is,” Joe agrees. “You worked together at another job?”

“My current job,” Nicky says. “But she left after a year or so—she wanted out of corporate life, understandably.” 

“Why are you still there, then?”

“The benefits are good,” he says, thinking of all the doctor’s visits and FMLA leave he’s taken over the past four years, then wonders if that’s a normal thing for a person his age to care about. “I like my boss, and I don’t mind the work itself,” he adds quickly, and sips at his soup. 

Joe nods, clearly considering something as he chews his food. “Okay. I have to ask. What were you even doing at that bar?”

Nicky frowns. “What were _you_ doing at that bar?” 

Joe lifts his hands defensively. “Look, Booker dragged me there and he has shit taste, so that explains that.”

“Maybe I have shit taste, too.” 

“For a couple reasons, I’m choosing not to believe that.” Joe grins at him, and Nicky smiles back.

“I was just there for a drink,” he says. “I like the crowd.” 

“Ah, you mean the people in the leather and the collars?” Joe teases. 

Nicky bites his lip, thinking about the bottom drawer of his nightstand. “Exactly,” he says, and Joe’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hair.

Nicky laughs. 

“Now I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” Joe says.

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Nicky tells him, all faux-innocence. 

After that, they’re a little too keyed up for casual conversation. They poke around at their meals a bit more, but soon they head out to the car. As Nicky drives them back to Joe’s, Joe rubs a hand up and down Nicky’s thigh, the space between them heavy with tension. 

“Want to come in?” Joe asks when they pull up. 

“Only if you plan on fucking me,” Nicky says baldly. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to take them back—he can’t believe he’s actually said something that shameless. Something about being around Joe just destroys his filter.

Joe stares, then his gaze sharpens a little. “Only if you ask for it nicely.” He winks and hops out of the car, and Nicky scrambles to follow. They make a beeline for Joe’s bedroom and stand across from each other, staring. 

“Well?” Joe prompts, and Nicky’s mouth goes dry as he sinks to his knees. 

“Please, fuck me, Joe,” Nicky begs, and he mouths at Joe’s cock through his jeans. 

“Fuck, Nicky.” Joe’s eyes are wide as he threads the fingers of both hands through Nicky’s hair and tilts his head up, baring his neck. “You’re so slutty.” 

He says it so easily, and so fondly. “Yes,” Nicky moans. 

“Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

“Anyway you want,” Nicky says, and it’s true. 

“Really? I thought you liked it rough.” 

“Yes,” Nicky breathes. 

“Then tell me,” Joe says.

Nicky bites at the inside of his cheek. He closes his eyes. “I want you to put me on my knees, and your hand on my throat,” he says in a rush.

The hands in his his hair tug until he opens his eyes and looks back up to Joe. “I already have you on your knees,” Joe says slowly. “What makes you think you deserve anything else?”

Nicky is so hard he thinks he might pass out. “ _Joe_ ,” he practically sobs. 

Joe smirks. “Okay. Get up, take off your clothes,” he says, and Nicky obeys as fast as he can, though he legs feel like jelly. 

“On the bed,” Joe orders. “Ass up, just like you wanted.”

Nicky crawls on to the bed on all fours and arches his back, practically presenting himself for Joe. All he can think about is how good it is, how good it’s going to be. 

He hears the rustle of clothing—Joe getting undressed, he thinks—then the bed dips behind him. One of Joe’s long-fingered hands smooths up Nicky’s spine and comes to rest over his throat. He swallows. Joe’s not gripping him at all, just touching, holding, but the promise of it makes him shake.

Joe’s fingers press on either side of Nicky’s throat. “Like this?” he murmurs in Nicky’s ear. His beard brushes against Nicky’s cheek, and Nicky is suddenly overcome with wondering how it’d feel against his thighs. 

“Yes,” Nicky pants. “But higher up.”

Joe adjusts the position of his hand so it’s right below Nicky’s chin, and his fingers press into his carotid artery.

“Hmm?” Joe asks.

Nicky nods as much as he can. “Yes, perfetto.” 

Joe groans. “Shit, Nicky, you can’t spring that on me like that.”

Nicky huffs a laugh, and Joe bites at his shoulder before releasing his neck. Nicky hears the sounds of a drawer rattling and a lid clicking, then Joe’s hand is back, stroking at his ass.

“How many fingers do you need?”

“Only two.” Joe makes a strangled noise, and Nicky’s suddenly self-conscious about how that sounds. “I like to feel it,” he adds. 

“You’re gonna,” Joe says, and then one of his slick fingers is working itself into Nicky. “Sometime,” he continues, “I’m going to spend hours doing this, I’m going to finger you open until you’re sobbing and begging for my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Nicky chants. He’s dropped down to his forearms to get a better angle, not that Joe needs much help—he’s already found Nicky’s prostate faster than guys he’d been dating for half a year ever managed to. 

By the time Joe gets another finger in him, Nicky’s humping the mattress and pushing back on Joe’s hand, moaning so loudly he hopes that the apartment walls are very, very thick.

“You sound like a fucking animal, Nicky,” Joe tells him, and Nicky goes hot all over. He drops his face to the pillows, hoping to muffle some of the sound, but Joe tugs his head back up. “No, I want to hear it, I want to hear all of it.” 

Every time Nicky thinks he’s hit peak arousal, Joe says something like that and he gets even more desperate. “I’m open, I’m ready,” he gasps. “Fuck me, please.” 

One of Joe’s hands gives Nicky’s side a quick squeeze, then he hears a condom packet ripping open. 

Joe presses in and it does hurt, just a little—a delicious, perfect pain

“Yes,” Nicky moans. “Cazzo.”

Joe grunts against his neck. “You feel good, Nicky,” he says, and Nicky whines. Joe sets a steady rhythm, and Nicky’s already close when Joe puts his hand back on Nicky’s neck and squeezes. He’s a little tentative about it, letting up before Nicky even really starts to feel light-headed, but the idea alone is enough to make him wild.

Joe nails his prostate, and Nicky gives up trying to stay on his arms. His chest falls against the mattress, though his neck is still arched in Joe’s grip. 

“Are you going to come like this for me?” Joe asks.

“Yes, fuck, yes—”

“Good,” Joe growls, and he squeezes Nicky’s neck again. 

Nicky comes so hard he screams, something he’s only distantly aware of. He’s still panting when Joe lets out a long moan of his own and goes still behind Nicky. He falls forward on to his hands, caging Nicky on the bed, face smashed against Nicky’s back.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joe hisses. He lets out a shuddering breath before he pushes himself up and rolls off to the side. He looks at Nicky with glazed eyes. “That was—really fucking good.”

“Yes,” Nicky whispers, and nods. 

“Are you—is your, ah, throat—”

“It’s fine,” Nicky said. “It was good. You were good.” He smiles, and Joe beams at him. 

They make a quick attempt at cleaning up, then climb under the covers. 

“Stay the night?” Joe asks. “I’ll set an alarm for you, whenever you need.” 

“Five thirty?”

Joe grimaces, but he does it. He sets his phone on the nightstand and curls around Nicky, chest to back. Nicky’s never been much of a cuddler, but Joe seems to fit around him like no one else ever has, and it feels—nice. 

“Have you met your neighbors yet?” Nicky asks as his eyes drift shut.

Joe’s laugh tickles his ear. “No. And now I’m a little bit afraid to.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says, even though he really isn’t.

“I’m not,” Joe mumbles into his neck.

———

The phone starts chirping, and the first thing Nicky notices is the familiar pain in his neck and shoulders. He shifts a little, and the pain is in his hips, too. 

Joe’s barely stirring, so Nicky extracts himself from his arms and jabs at the phone until the alarm turns off. The pain is a constant, stabbing ache, and he feels himself slowing down his movements in hopes it’ll help, even though he knows from experience it won’t. 

He feels like an idiot. That’s two nights this week he’s been up late, and this happens every time he gets too little sleep. He should have known better.

Nicky stands and starts hunting for his clothes, a task made more difficult by the near-black of the room. 

“Nicky?”

He can make out Joe’s torso sitting up in bed. “Shh, no, go back to sleep,” Nicky tells him softly.

“You come back to bed. Ten more minutes.” Joe’s voice is raspy with sleep and Nicky can spot the outline of his curls sticking up every which way. It’s adorable, but it’s still not enough to distract Nicky from the pain pulsing through his muscles, or the headache that’s coming on. 

“I have an early meeting,” Nicky lies as he puts on his shoes. “And a busy day. But we’ll talk soon?”

“Okay,” Joe agrees, and swings his legs out of bed. He stumbles to Nicky like a zombie before taking his face in his hands. 

“Bye,” Joe says, and kisses him. Like all their kisses, it’s a good one, but Nicky cuts it short. 

“I really have to go,” he says, hoping he looks and sounds as sorry as he feels. He cups Joe’s cheek. “Have a good day, Joe.” 

“You too, Nicky,” Joe says, and it’s too dark in the room to make out his expression—all Nicky can see is the glint of his eyes. 

The drive back to Nicky’s own apartment is only fifteen minutes, but it’s agony. He immediately throws on sweats, then grabs his laptop from the kitchen island and several of his icepacks from the freezer. 

He arranges himself in bed with the icepacks, a ritual that’s simultaneously soothing and frustrating. He opens his computer and pulls up the company messaging app. 

_Having a flare-up_ , he writes. _Wfh today—I’ll go through all the incident reports. Let me know if you need anything else._

He’s not expecting a response—it’s just after six—but Copley must be up with his kids, because he sends back a thumbs up emoji. _Hope it passes soon. Rest as much as you need._

Even though Copley’s never been anything but understanding, Nicky always feels a little relief each time he tells him he’s working from home and doesn’t get written up in retaliation. He closes the laptop, sets an alarm for seven thirty, and sinks down into bed, trying to ignore the throbbing that feels like it’s coursing through every nerve and blood vessel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...perhaps some different tropes than anticipated? Hope you're enjoying all the same and would love to hear from you! I'm also on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


	3. march (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! :)

Joe doesn’t hear from Nicky all day, which is fine, because Nicky had said it was going to be a busy one and Joe can definitely make it a day without talking to the guy he just met. But there’s nothing on Friday, either, so after work Joe abandons his resolution not to look needy and texts Nicky. 

_Hey. How was your week?_

Five minutes later, his phone lights up with a text. Joe hastily stirs his ramen and jumps onto the couch, bowl in one hand, phone in the other. 

_It was okay. Busy. I’m glad it’s over. What about you?_

_Good_ , Joe writes. _First week in the books!! Didnt get fired so Im calling it a win._

Nicky sends back a smiley face, and Joe waits for more. 

_Big weekend plans?_ he presses after three minutes of silence. So much for not looking desperate.

He watches the dots appear, disappear, and re-appear. Finally: _Catching up with some friends, then a lot of cleaning. My apartment is a mess._

A disappointing answer, but Joe reminds himself that Nicky has a life, unlike him. _Youve seen mine…bet its not as bad._

 _I wasn’t paying much attention to how spotless or otherwise it was_ , Nicky writes, and Joe grins.

 _Then maybe you need to come see it again._ He’s about as subtle as a brick, but really, what does he have to lose? 

_Maybe so. Or you could come to mine._

Joe’s heart does an embarrassing little backflip. He’d been worried that maybe Nicky wasn’t that into him, but that’s definitely the text of a man who’s interested. 

_Just say when_ , Joe writes.

He’s hoping Nicky will say “right now” or, failing that, name a time in the next several days, but he just sends another smiley, followed by _What do you have going on this weekend?_

The answer is nothing, but they still text for another two hours. 

———

It goes like that for an entire week—sometimes Nicky texts Joe first, and when they talk, they talk for hours at a time, but they never solidify plans for their next date. 

Finally, on Friday morning Nicky texts and asks if he’s free tomorrow. If he weren’t at his desk, surrounded by coworkers who barely know him, Joe would get up and dance. 

_Yes_ , he writes back, embarrassingly quickly. I get to pick what we do this time. 

_I thought you wanted to see my place._

_Thats pretty forward of you, Nicky_ , Joe teases.

Nicky sends back an eggplant emoji and Joe gets a weird look from Teyonah as he snorts into his coffee. 

_I do want to see it but figured we could do something else first. Do you like animals?_

_…yes?_

Joe sends a cryptic smiley of his own, and the next day he has Nicky meet him at the corner of Clyburn and Cortland. 

“Is this a scavenger hunt?” Nicky asks as he walks up to Joe. Without waiting for an answer, Nicky leans to kiss his cheek in greeting.

Joe tries not to swoon. “Nope. We’re going in there,” he says, pointing at the animal shelter a few storefronts down. 

Nicky blinks at him. “You’re looking for a pet?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe. I had two roommates, back in Cali. It gets lonely at my place.” He wants to add, “when you’re not around” but realizes that’s a little too intense of a thing to say to someone he’s met all of three times, even by his own lax standards for sweeping declarations. 

Nicky looks bemused. “Okay, lead the way.”

“Did you have pets growing up?” Joe asks as he holds the door for Nicky.

“Not unless you count four younger siblings,” Nicky tells him drily. “What about you?”

“Always dogs,” Joe says. “But I’m not sure if I can handle that much responsibility. I’m only thirty-three, you know.” 

Nicky laughs. “A cat, then? Or a small rodent?”

“Well. It doesn’t hurt to _look_ at the dogs,” Joe says, and steers Nicky in that direction, which is a convenient excuse for taking his hand. 

“It makes me a little sad,” Nicky says as they walk by and watch the dogs perk up. “I don’t like to think that someone gave them up, or didn’t want them.”

Joe looks at the pit-mix named Phil on the other side of the transparent door. All the wagging tails suddenly seem less cute. 

“Yeah. My parents usually used a breeder. Reputable, not, like, a puppy mill thing, but still.”

Nicky nods, lost in thought, then glances at Joe. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m being depressing.”

Joe shakes his head. “No! I mean. A little. But you’re right. It makes me sad, too.” He gives Nicky’s hand a squeeze and they hurry through the dog area so they don’t give any of the pooches false hope—Joe’s apartment definitely isn’t dog-sized.

The cats are just as heartbreakingly desperate for attention as the dogs as they pace around their kennels and meow loudly enough to be heard through the glass. 

“If there’s anyone you two would like to meet, let me know,” an employee—or maybe a volunteer—tells them as she walks by. She’s holding a carrier with something small and fidgety.

“Oh, thanks, just looking,” Joe says. 

“You’re a no-kill shelter, yes?” Nicky asks her. 

“That’s right,” the woman says. “We actually have about twice as many animals in foster homes as we do here. If you go to our site you can see all the bios.” She eyes them appraisingly, then adds, “You can also apply to foster.” 

“Thank you,” Nicky tells her, and Joe gives her a wide smile.

“That’s cool,” Joe says after she continues on her way. “Fostering could be fun.” 

“If you can keep yourself from getting attached,” Nicky points out as he crouches to look at one of the dozing kittens in the lowest kennel.

Nicky smiles as he watches the kitten stretch before curling into an even tighter ball, and Joe swallows. “Yeah, probably not,” he admits. 

———

It’s mid-afternoon when they step out of the shelter, and the sun is peeking through the winter gray for the first time in at least a week.

“Sunlight!” Joe cries. “My god, I thought I might never see it again.” 

Nicky smiles, wide and crooked. “So, do you want to go to the park? Maybe the lake?” 

“Fuck no,” Joe laughs. “We still live in a frozen hell. Just a sunny frozen hell today.”

This time Nicky takes his hand. “Want to warm up at my place? I have great natural light.”

That gets Joe’s attention on multiple levels. “Wait, really?”

Nicky pulls a face. “Ah. I don’t actually know.” Then he gives Joe a sly look. “Is that really the selling point?”

Joe shakes his head, grinning. “Just a value-add.” 

It’s more than a twenty-minute drive to Nicky’s, and Joe valiantly keeps his hands to himself and focuses on making conversation. He wants to know everything about Nicky, and he has a million questions, but Nicky has a knack for turning the topic back to Joe—what were his dogs’ names, did he like being an only child, does he have other family in California—and by the time they arrive at Nicky’s apartment, all he’s learned is the names, ages, and locations of Nicky’s siblings (Camilla, twenty-eight, still in Genoa, where they grew up; Paolo, twenty-seven, in Paris; Giovanni, twenty-four, also still in Genoa; and Viviana, twenty, and attending Trinity College in Dublin).

Nicky parks in the lot and leads Joe to the fourth and final floor of the building. His apartment is nice, definitely bigger than Joe’s (and considerably more tidy), though everything looks a little older. 

“You actually do have great natural light,” Joe call over his shoulder as he walks to the patio door. “And your balcony view’s nice, too.”

Nicky presses up against him and snakes a chilly hand underneath his shirt. “You’re making me jealous of my own apartment,” he breathes in Joe’s ear.

Joe turns in his arms and grins. “Oh no. Can’t have that.” They’re close enough that their lips are almost touching already, but Joe closes the sliver of space between them and kisses Nicky. 

He keeps expecting it to stop being amazing—at some point it has to be just “good” or “nice” and not “groundbreaking” and “show-stopping”—but it still is. 

“The bedroom has a window, too,” Nicky murmurs against his lips.

“Don’t want to miss that,” Joe says. “Maybe if I’m lucky you’ll get jealous again.”

“You’re very mean,” Nicky says as he starts to walk them backwards, pulling Joe through the loops of his jeans. 

Joe smirks. “I was under the impression you liked that.”

Nicky sits down on his bed and looks up at Joe with dark pupils. “Yes.”

Joe runs his hand through Nicky’s hair, scratching a little at his nape. He’s never been with anyone who’s wanted the things Nicky wants from him. It’s absurdly hot, but it’s also a little terrifying. “Maybe you should tell me what else you like,” he says, trying to sound sexy and not just out of his depth.

Nicky nods. “Biting. Choking. Which you know. I like—being tied up, or held down, sometimes. I like being teased and told what to do. I liked when you—” he swallows, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing “—when you called me slutty.” His face has gone all flushed. “And I like being hit. Spanked.”

Joe is going to pass out. “With—with a hand?” he manages.

“Yes, that—that works,” Nicky says.

Joe raises his eyebrows. “With…implements?” 

Nicky bites at his lip and tilts his head toward the nightstand. “Bottom drawer,” he says, and Joe steps around the bed and crouches down.

He pulls open the drawer and bites his lip. Maybe Nicky _hadn’t_ been kidding about being at the bar with the the leather-clad collared people. He looks up to find Nicky’s staring down at him, watching raptly. 

“Mm—this is naughty, Nicky,” Joe says. 

“Yes,” Nicky agrees. 

Joe’s hand trails over a piece of silky dark fabric, a pair of handcuffs, and—

“A spanker?” he asks, holding it up.

Nicky’s mouth twitches. “A crop. But yes, that’s the idea.” 

Joe brings it down on his open palm, testing it, and Nicky sucks in a sharp inhale. 

“You want this?”

Nicky nods, jaw clenched. 

“Take off your clothes and bend over the bed. Don’t make me wait.” 

Joe doesn’t even wait to see if Nicky obeys, though he can hear him scrambling from the bed. He toes off his shoes and socks, then shucks his sweater over his head so he’s stripped down to his undershirt. He unzips his jeans, which are already painfully tight over his erection, and steps behind Nicky, who has his palms planted on the mattress and his legs spread. 

Joe traces the crop down the back of Nicky’s thigh. “Look at how bad you want it,” he says, and Nicky makes one of his desperate little noises. It feels like Joe’s heart is in his throat. The words are on his tongue, but the thought of actually saying them makes him feel like he’s in a a sleazy porno. He takes a breath to steady himself, and then: “You filthy slut.” 

Nicky moans. “Fuck, Joe—”

Joe brings the crop down on Nicky’s ass. The skin blooms red, but Nicky moans again and arches back.

Joe brings it down again, and again, sometimes hitting the same spot and occasionally venturing down Nicky’s thighs. He’s on the lookout for any sign of it being too much, but Nicky just writhes under him and humps against the side of the bed.

Watching Nicky like this is devastating. He’d thought he could spank Nicky until he cried uncle, but in the end it’s Joe who is desperate to move things along.

“Open your mouth,” he says, struck by a sudden bit of inspiration. He holds the crop in front of Nicky’s face. Nicky moans and takes it between his teeth, tongue licking after Joe’s fingers.

Joe's too impatient and too far gone to prep Nicky, even with the minimal fingering he seems to prefer. He pushes down his pants and boxers, then rubs his cock against Nicky’s ass, sighing.

“You want this, don’t you? To have my cock in your greedy ass?” Joe can’t believe half the shit that’s coming out of his mouth, but Nicky makes an agreeable sound around the crop, so he goes with it. “Mm. Too bad,” Joe says as he fists his cock. It only takes a couple of strokes before he comes all over Nicky’s pink ass and thighs. 

Joe gives himself a moment before he tugs Nicky upright and spins him around. He pushes him to sit on the bed and drops down to his knees. He glances at Nicky’s face—flushed and blotchy, pupils blown wide—then swallows him down. He can’t quite take all of him, and even this much is a struggle, but he sucks and hums, pulls out every trick he’s got, and after just a few minutes Nicky comes down his throat. 

Joe sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth. Nicky still holds the crop in his mouth, and he’s drooled around it, which is—kind of hot. Joe stands up and gently tugs it away. 

“Nicky. Fuck.” He cups the back of Nicky’s head and pulls him in for a kiss. Nicky’s mouth is slack as he licks at Joe’s lips, his tongue, his teeth. He can probably taste himself. Fuck. Joe’s soft cock twitches painfully just thinking about it. 

Eventually they come up for air, and Nicky smiles sheepishly. “That was good,” he says.

“Yeah? The, uh, the spanking…”

“Was perfect,” Nicky says. He shifts on to one side and glances down. “I think I’ve made a mess of my bed, though.” 

Joe grimaces. “Sorry. Kind of my fault.” Now that the post-sex glow is wearing off, he’s starting to feel a little awkward—his jeans and underwear are still pooled around his ankles. 

Nicky shrugs. “It’ll wash out.” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Joe would get a root canal if it meant another minute in Nicky’s presence. The fact that he only has bread and peanut butter waiting for him at home is just extra incentive. “I’d love that,” he says. 

Nicky disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes to clean himself up while Joe sets his clothes to rights. After Nicky’s back and dressed, he leads Joe into the kitchen.

“Do you like salmon?” Nicky asks, head already buried in a cupboard. He emerges with several pans. “Or—do you eat fish?”

“Um.” Joe blinks. He’d assumed they’d be getting takeout. “Yeah. I do, that sounds great.” 

“Asparagus?” 

Joe nods, at a loss for words at the thought of someone his age having fresh vegetables on hand. He watches Nicky bring out circular apparatus and set it on the counter.

“What’s that?” Joe asks.

Nicky, who’s now rummaging through the refrigerator, looks at Joe over his shoulder, frowning. “It’s a rice cooker,” he says slowly. “Sorry are—were you joking?”

“Uh. No, unfortunately. I don’t really…cook. Rice, or anything else.”

Nicky quirks an eyebrow. “How do you live?”

“Ramen, sandwiches, takeout. You know, the three major food groups.” 

Nicky hums and starts chopping asparagus. “Will your body reject these vegetables?”

“Hey, the little ramen flavor packs have freeze-dried veggies.”

Nicky laughs. 

“Can I help with anything?” Joe asks.

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t,” Nicky tells him seriously, though his lips twitch. “You could open a bottle of wine?” He nods toward the built-in wine rack above the cupboards.

“That I know how to do,” Joe agrees. He surveys the options. “You saving any of these for anything?”

“No,” Nicky tells him.

Joe selects a pinot noir. “I think we should chill this for best pairing with the fish, but I’m okay with being low-class if you are.”

Nicky grins. “The bottle opener is to your left, second drawer down.” He puts the asparagus in the oven and turns to the rice cooker.

Joe opens the bottle and looks through Nicky’s cabinets until he finds a pair of wine glasses. He hands Nicky a glass and leans against the kitchen island, sipping his wine and watching Nicky season the salmon. 

“It’s very sexy that you can cook,” Joe tells him.

Nicky shrugs. “Needs must—four younger siblings, two working parents.”

“Ah,” Joe says. “Was it hard leaving them all to come to the States for school?”

“The decision, no. I was ready to get away from my family—it felt like my entire identity was taking care of my brothers and sisters. I think—I think it was a little out of spite, deciding to go far away. I didn’t want my parents to be able to call me home at a moment’s notice.”

“That’s understandable, though.”

Nicky shrugs again. “Perhaps. But as soon as I arrived I missed them all. And I missed so much—Viviana was only eight when I moved away.”

“But you stayed, so you must have liked it here, too.”

“Eventually I did. But in the beginning—the first several months—the only thing that kept me was my pride.” Nicky shoots him a rueful smile.

“I get that,” Joe says, thinking of the tiny studio apartment he shared with two other people rather than live at home. 

Nicky’s eyes are intent. “Missing your family?” 

Joe shakes his head. “No. Suffering for pride.” He grins. “That’s sort of why I’m here—I mean, I was so determined not to ask my parents for money I moved halfway across the country.” 

Nicky turns to Joe, sipping his wine. “There’s nothing bad about wanting to make your own way.”

“Cheers,” Joe says, and they clink glasses. 

Nicky finishes cooking and plates their food. It looks like something Joe would order in a restaurant.

“This is good,” Joe tells him. “And I feel like I added at least three years to my life.” 

Nicky flashes him a closed-mouth smile as he chews. They fall into companionable silence, and it’s easy for Joe to forget that he only met Nicky two weeks ago. He feels like he’s known him for hundreds of years, but he reminds himself that this is just their second date. For all he knows, Nicky’s still seeing other people (possibly even other people he met and fucked in bar bathrooms), and that thought does not sit well with him, but he’s not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a clingy, controlling asshole.

When they’ve finished eating, they clear their plates, then Nicky grabs the wine bottle and motions Joe over to the couch. They sit facing each other on opposite sides and Nicky gives Joe a shy smile. “How was your second week at Reach?”

“Good. I started my first project—branding for the summer program.”

“Ah. What’s the theme this year?”

Joe tries not to pull a face. “Seasons.”

“As in—winter, summer..?”

“Yep.” 

Nicky frowns. “I don’t think I understand.”

Joe grins. “Me neither. Brit came up with it, I guess. And the new guy unfortunately doesn’t get to weigh in on that kind of thing after the fact.” 

“I’m sure you will pull it off beautifully,” Nicky says, and he sounds so sincere that Joe almost believes it, too. “The summer program is fun.”

Joe perks up. “You volunteer?”

“For the last two years,” Nicky says, nodding.

“What age group?”

“High schoolers the first year, elementary kids the second.” 

“Which was better? I haven’t told Nile where I want to be placed yet, so tell me everything.” He lets himself sink back a little further into the cushions of Nicky’s very comfortable couch, sipping his wine. 

“Mm. The high schoolers can actually have a real conversation with you, but you have to watch out for any summer romances. You’ll feel old, but you’ll also feel like you’re making a real difference in their lives. And the elementary students were sweet, if you don’t mind sticky hugs. They melt down, but they move on fast.”

Picturing Nicky hugging some sweet five-year-old makes Joe’s brain go all staticky for a second. 

“Much to consider,” Joe says, distracted by the way Nicky licks his lips after he takes another sip of wine. 

Nicky catches him staring, which leads to a prolonged make-out session on the couch. Joe’s on his back, running his hands up and down the broad (so _fucking_ broad) expanse of Nicky’s shoulders and just starting to wonder how to move things along when Nicky sits up, wiping at his red lips.

“I want you to stay over,” he says. “If you want. But—I might go to bed.” 

Joe glances at his phone—it’s just after ten—then back to Nicky’s face, which is now apologetic. 

“Nicky, don’t tell me you’re a morning person,” Joe teases, and Nicky smiles, though it’s a little strained. 

“Sort of,” he says. “I, ah, try to keep a consistent sleep schedule.”

“I could probably stand to do that,” Joe says, and Nicky looks relieved. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Hm, I was thinking you could just sleep in the nude.” Nicky stands and extends a hand to pull Joe up.  
“I’ll show you mine…”

“I’ve already seen it,” Nicky reminds him as he leads them into the bedroom. 

“It gets better each time,” Joe says, and Nicky laughs. 

“I believe it.” He tosses Joe a pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt, which fit him decently and smell a bit like Nicky himself. 

Joe uses the bathroom, and when he comes back into the bedroom there’s something painfully domestic about seeing Nicky already in bed. He turns off the light and slides into bed next to him.

“Good night,” Nicky says. He gives Joe a quick kiss on the lips, their noses bumping in the dark. 

“Night,” Joe says, and he wraps an arm around Nicky. He barely has time to wonder how he’s going to fall asleep so early before his eyes start to feel heavy. 

———

The next morning, they have crusty-eyed, morning-breathed sleepy sex that’s mostly just rubbing up on each other before they fall back asleep for another two hours. When they get up for real, Nicky cooks them an elaborate breakfast—omelettes and pancakes—and Joe hangs around until late morning, at which point he decides he’d better go if he has any hope of leaving Nicky wanting more, though it’s possibly already too late for that. 

For a few days, Joe feels great about where they left off. On Sunday and Monday, he and Nicky text throughout the day. On Tuesday, Nicky’s quieter, but they still have an hour of back-and-forth in the evening. But on Wednesday, Joe hears nothing. 

_Everything okay?_ he asks on Thursday.

 _Yes—busy week at work is all_ , Nicky writes back, and part of Joe wants to believe it, but part of him is convinced it’s Nicky’s way of telling him to back off. 

It would make sense if he is—after all, Nicky has his life together. He has a grown-up job with real benefits, he cooks vegetables for himself, and he goes to bed at a reasonable hour. Joe, meanwhile, is two weeks in to his first proper job, didn’t know a rice cooker when he saw it, and sometimes stays up until two in the morning browsing Reddit on weeknights. What would Nicky see in him, anyway?

On Saturday, Joe gets a little drunk alone in his apartment and orders Chinese delivery, which he eats on his couch while he texts Booker: _I dont think Nickys in to me._

He really just wants to text Nicky, but it feels borderline creepy to initiate a conversation yet again, especially when their last one had been so brief. Joe’s finishing his last egg roll and his third beer by the time Booker replies. _The bar bathroom guy???_

_Yeah._

_Why do u think that??_

_Hasnt texted me in a couple days_ , Joe writes.

_Hes prob just busy._

_Or he realized Im a loser._

_Ur not a loser???_ Then: _Gotta put kids 2 bed brb._

Joe flops back on the couch. Even Booker, the biggest shitshow on the UCLA soccer team, has now cleaned up his act enough to have tiny humans in his care. He cracks open another beer while he waits for Booker to finish his parental duties, telling himself that no matter what, he needs to resist texting Nicky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, please drop a comment, because I love to hear what you think! You can also catch me on the [hellsite](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


	4. march (ii)

Though Nicky’s week got off to the best start imaginable (morning sex and brunch with Joe), things take a sharp nosedive on Tuesday. 

It starts when a member of the customer success team files a sexual harassment complaint against the sales director, Steven Merrick, who just happens to be the CEO’s nephew. Based on the rumors that have flown around the office for the past few years, Nicky doubts the complaint is anything but true, and he’s certain their investigation will reveal more women who’ve experienced the same thing. Despite that, though, there’s lots of pressure from the executive team to “handle it gently” (as though they wouldn’t)—corporate speak for “keep this quiet.”

After strategizing for most of the day on Tuesday, Nicky and Copley have a two-hour meeting with Merrick the next day. It results in him throwing a very loud, visible fit (all the conference rooms have glass doors and walls, to Nicky’s infinite chagrin) and storming from the building. Word gets out about the complaint, and Nicky spends the latter half of his day consoling the tearful women who’s now the subject of all the office gossip. 

By the time he gets home, his head pounds and pain laces through his neck and shoulders. Thursday is full of meetings to address the fallout, and while Copley could—and would—cover for him, Nicky feels like he needs to be there, so he drags himself into the office despite being in just as much pain as he was the night before. He makes it through the day and works from home Friday. With the amount of messages he and Copley exchange throughout the day, it’s not unlike being in the office, though at least at home Nicky can wear sweats and bury himself in ice packs. 

As he cooks dinner, Nicky thinks of Joe, who he’s barely spoken to over the past couple days. He almost picks up his phone, but what would he say? Everything outside the Merrick situation and the stabbing sensation in his muscles feels so foggy and distant, and he doesn’t want to talk about either of those two things. He’ll text Joe when he’s feeling better, when his head’s clearer. 

On Sunday, he wakes up to an absence of pain, as well as several messages from Joe: 

_Heyyy_ , at ten thirty-seven. 

Six minutes later: _Nicky_

Four minutes after that, _Do you still like me_

Finally, at five after eleven: _Nikcy :(((_

Shit, Nicky thinks. It’s only a quarter after seven, so he doubts Joe’s even re-read these messages, but he writes back anyway.

_I like you a lot. Call me later?_

Some combination of guilt, regret, and anxiety is bundled into a knot in the pit of Nicky’s chest. This isn’t the first time he’s driven a guy away—he’s even been accused of running “hot and cold” a couple of times—but it’s the first time the thought of it’s bothered him so much. 

At nine thirty, his phone rings. “Hi Joe.” 

“Nicky,” Joe says. His voice is rough with sleep, and possibly a hangover.

“How are you feeling?”

“Stupid. I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not, I don’t—I had a few beers,” Joe admits. “I’m sorry, I feel like a fucking psycho.” 

“It’s really fine, Joe. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch this week. There’s been a lot going on at work is all. I’ve missed you—do you want to come over for dinner? Tonight, tomorrow?” 

“I’m free tonight. If—if that’s okay for you.” 

“Of course. Six?” 

“Uh, yeah, that works.”

“See you soon, Joe,” Nicky says, then hangs up.

Over the past few days his apartment’s fallen into a bit of disarray—dishes in the sink, clothes piling in the laundry, and work things strewn all about the bedroom. He spends the day cleaning and cooking (pesto risotto, roasted vegetables, and torta Bazzori). 

The doorbell rings at exactly six. Nicky answers it, and Joe’s as handsome as ever, though today he looks a little bit like one of the dogs at the animal shelter with his deep, sad eyes. 

Nicky pulls him into a hug before he can speak. Joe smells like he always does—outdoorsy pine and cedar, mixed with a smell Nicky associates with the yoga studio—though Nicky also gets a whiff of last night’s beer. 

“I’m really sorry,” Joe says as they step apart.

“Joe, I meant it—it’s no problem. You don’t need to apologize.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t mean to go dark on you. It’s just—been a week, is all.”

“No,” Joe says quickly, “I get it.”

He follows Nicky inside and sits at the island while Nicky plates their food. 

“Shit, Nicky. This looks—incredible.” Joe shoots him a sly look. “You’re only incentivizing my bad behavior, you know.” 

“I’m incentivizing you texting me and coming over,” Nicky says, “because that’s what I want.” 

Joe grins then takes a bite, groaning in satisfaction. “Fuck. Amazing. Anyway—tell me about work? What’s going on?” 

Nicky sighs. “I can’t say much, but an employee filed a sexual harassment complaint against another and, well, that person made a scene, and everyone knows what’s happened. And now more—people are coming forward. And of course the higher-ups are still demanding that we handle it discreetly, but…”

“But that’s kinda bullshit?”

Nicky smiles wryly. “The exact kind of bullshit that led Nile to leave,” he agrees. 

“I’m sorry,” Joe says, and Nicky shakes his head. 

“It’s all right. Part of the job.” He forces a smile, and they pick at their food in silence. There’s a weird tension in the air—not the shy energy that’s crackled between them before, but something different, something weightier.

“Nicky,” Joe says after a minute, voice somber. “I don’t—I don’t really know how to ask this, but I guess I just wanted to know—are you seeing other people?”

Nicky pauses with his fork mid-way to his mouth. He sets it down. “No,” he says slowly. “I’m not.” He hesitates, searching Joe’s face. “Are you?”

“No!” Joe almost shouts. “I—no, and I mean, it’s okay if you are, or, if you were, I just wanted to know…where we stood. What…all of this is.” 

“Joe,” Nicky says, and it takes everything in his power to keep his lip from curling. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Joe’s face scrunches. “Maybe?”

“Yes or no?” Nicky presses, his own face still deliberately blank.

Joe lets out a hiss of breath. “Okay, yes,” he says in a rush. “Even though that word makes us sound like we’re sixteen, yes, I am asking you to be my boyfriend.” 

Nicky grins. “Good.” 

The tense set of Joe’s shoulders relaxes marginally. “So is that a yes?” he presses.

Nicky nods. “Yes.” 

Joe beams, though a second later it turns mischievous. “Do you think we should celebrate our new relationship status?”

“Hm.” Nicky spears a carrot and licks at the end of it before taking a bite. 

“ _Nicky_. You are actually killing me.” 

He laughs. “In that case, yes, we’d better.”

They abandon their mostly-empty plates and stumble through the bedroom door. “Do you want to fuck me?” Joe asks as he tugs off his own shirt. 

How is that even a question, Nicky thinks as he stares at Joe’s washboard abs. 

“Yes,” he says. “How—how do you like it?”

“Um. Do you mean, like…” Joe’s eyes trail over to Nicky’s nightstand. 

“I just meant—in general. But if you’re interested…” The thought of Joe cuffed to his bed is—definitely something. 

Joe flashes a grin and starts unbuttoning Nicky’s shirt. “Some other time?”

“Of course.” He runs a hand down Joe’s side, then starts working on his belt.

“I like a lot of prep. Or, I mean, at least more than you. And I kind of like to be face-to-face.”

Joe’s cock is already tenting his boxers, and Nicky works a hand inside to stroke it. “Mm. Missionary? Cowboy?”

Joe makes a small strangled sound. “Dealer’s choice.” 

Nicky nods, considering the options as he steps out of his own jeans and underwear. Joe peels off his boxers and arranges himself on the bed, legs splayed open butterfly-style. 

Fuck, Joe looks so good. Nicky climbs over him and drops kisses down his neck and chest. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells him. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Joe says.

“Not flattery, just honesty.” Nicky leans over to feel around in the nightstand for lube and condoms. He slicks the fingers of his right hand and wraps his left around Joe’s ankle. “Is this stretch okay?” he asks, tugging Joe’s leg up over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Though—that’s about as far as it goes.”

Nicky nods and brings his index finger to Joe’s hole. He traces around the rim, watching Joe’s face. His mouth is open, hanging slack, and his eyes are wide, full of something tender and soft that screams “handle with care.” 

Nicky presses in the very tip of his finger, but doesn’t go beyond the first knuckle. Joe’s tight like a vice around him. 

“When—when is the last time you did this?” Nicky asks, trying not to sound judgmental. 

“Um. Probably at least a year. But I hear it’s like riding a bike…”

Nicky smiles and turns his head to kiss Joe’s ankle, which gets him to relax enough that Nicky can slide the rest of his finger in. 

“You have—big hands,” Joe says. His breath comes out ragged.

“I can go slower, or—”

“No, no, it’s good.” Joe clenches around Nicky’s finger and all Nicky can think about is how it’ll feel around his cock. “I’m ready for another.” 

“I’m not in a hurry.”

Joe grins. “Well. I kinda am.” He winks and wriggles back on Nicky’s finger. One of Joe’s hands has drifted to his cock, and he strokes at himself lazily. 

“Good things come to those who wait,” Nicky says absently, but he adds more lube to his middle finger anyway and starts to work it in. He crooks his fingers, feeling around for the little bulge inside Joe until he hears Joe hiss. 

“There?”

“Yeah, fuck. Nicky.” 

“Mm?”

“Feels good.” 

They fall into silence and the only sound in the room is the squelching of Nicky’s fingers fucking in and out of Joe, who rocks back on them while he touches himself. 

“Okay,” Joe pants after a few minutes. “Ready for another.”

Nicky obliges. His own cock’s been leaking against his stomach since he got his second finger in Joe, but he tries to ignore it and focus on making it good for Joe. 

“Your fingers are huge, Nicky,” Joe groans. 

“Not as big as my cock,” Nicky says without thinking about it. Inwardly, he cringes, but, well—it’s true.

“Yeah.” Joe’s gaze drops to Nicky’s cock, and it looks—hungry. “You’re going to split me open.” 

That leaves Nicky winded. “Yes. Fuck.” 

“I’m ready,” Joe breathes, and Nicky pulls out his fingers. He unhooks Joe’s leg from his shoulder and sits on the bed, legs splayed, then rolls on the condom.

“Come here,” he tells Joe.

Joe blinks, brow scrunched, then—“Oh.” He crawls forward and settles with his feet planted behind Nicky’s hips. Joe lifts himself with his hands on Nicky’s shoulders, and Nicky wraps an arm around his waist to help him balance.

“You’re going to split _yourself_ open on my cock,” Nicky tells him, using his free hand to hold his cock steady. 

Joe groans again. “Fuck, Nicky.” He lowers himself down until the head of Nicky’s cock is inside him, then pauses, panting. 

Nicky’s animal instinct roars in his ear, telling him to just drag Joe all the way down, to fuck up into him, but he keeps still and helps hold Joe up to keep him from taking more than he’s ready to.

“So big,” Joe says, and he pushes himself a little further down. “Fuck, fuck.”

“It’s okay? You’re okay?”

“Yes—just a lot.” Joe drops his forehead to Nicky’s shoulder, then sits all the way down in Nicky’s lap. 

“Joe,” Nicky moans. He moves the hand at Joe’s waist down to cup his ass and braces his other arm behind him. Joe’s ankles hook around Nicky’s back, and Nicky looks up at Joe’s face.

“Can I—” 

Before he can finish the question, Joe leans down and kisses him. Every bit of Nicky’s consciousness is lit up with the general sensation of Joe—the feel of their beating hearts pressed together, the wet heat of Joe’s mouth, the ecstasy of being inside him. 

“Yes,” Joe says when he stops kissing Nicky senseless. 

“You didn’t even hear my question.”

“Answer’s still yes.” Joe shifts on Nicky’s cock and it destroys Nicky’s final shred of self control. He thrusts up, but without his feet planted he can’t get all the leverage he wants. Luckily, it’s a team effort—Joe uses his grip on Nicky’s shoulders (and probably his considerable core strength) to rock up and down in Nicky’s lap. 

Like this, there’s almost nowhere to look but at each other. Nicky bites at his lip, unsure what to do with this level of intimacy. He ends up just studying Joe’s face—his furrowed brow, his dark and glinting eyes, his crinkled half-smile. His curls are flopping over onto his forehead, and Nicky can’t resist brushing them back. 

“Touch my cock?” Joe asks, and Nicky is happy to oblige. “Fuck, your hands,” Joe groans, grinding down harder. 

“I’m, ah—I’m close,” Nicky warns. 

“Mm, me too, just a little longer, Nicky, this feels fucking perfect—”

Nicky digs the fingers of his free hand into the comforter and focuses on stroking Joe, timing the motion of his hand with the pumping of his hips as best he can. 

“Fuck, yes, yes—” Joe howls when he comes in Nicky’s hand, head tossed back and eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, Nicky, fuck, fuck.” He clutches at Nicky’s back as he rides out the aftershocks.

Without giving a single thought to the mess, Nicky brings his now-sticky hand back to Joe’s ass, holding tight as he brings Joe up and down one, two, three times before he comes with a low cry of his own. 

Shaking, he presses his face into Joe’s sweaty chest. They cling to each other until their breathing evens out.

“So good, Nicky,” Joe murmurs. He pushes Nicky’s damp hair back from his face. “Fuck.” 

“Yes,” Nicky agrees, and they start to untwine themselves. Everything always feels so natural and easy when they’re fucking, but after there’s always this awkward moment of uncertainty. What now, Nicky thinks, before he suddenly remembers—

“Stay there,” he tells Joe, and heads out of the room and into the kitchen naked. 

Joe still looks confused when Nicky comes back, but he laughs in surprise when he sees what Nicky has.

“Cake?” 

“Torte,” Nicky corrects. “It’s flourless.”

“Close enough,” Joe grins. He scoots back to sit against the headboard. “You know, I’m surprised you don’t have a rule about eating in bed.”

Nicky smirks as he settles next to Joe. “I make exceptions for special occasions—for celebrations.”

“Best boyfriend ever,” Joe says. 

———

After a shared shower, Joe gets dressed and goes back to his place—a very adult decision that they come to very reluctantly.

“Next time, pack a bag,” Nicky tells him at the door. 

“Noted,” Joe says. “I’ll see you again soon?” 

“Yes. I promise not to go dark on you again.” 

Joe beams and leans in for a kiss. “Bye, Nicky.”

Something soft flutters in Nicky’s chest. “Bye, Joe.”

Nicky’s halfway done cleaning up the kitchen when his phone rings. Andy’s FaceTiming him.

He answers, and both Andy and Quỳnh’s faces, with their cheeks almost pressed together, fill the screen.

“Nicky!” Quỳnh squeals. “It’s not too late, is it?” 

It’s just after nine. “No, no,” he assures her. “You know I’m always glad to hear from you—both of you.”

“Well, we’re just calling because we have some news,” Andy says. 

Nicky’s first thought is that they’re moving back, but he forces himself back to reality—it’s wishful thinking on his part. “What’s that?”

“We set a date!” Quỳnh does something like jazz hands. 

That’s the last thing Nicky expected to hear, and he gasps a little. “No—you’re serious?”

“Yep,” Andy says. 

Nicky has known Andy and Quỳnh for six years, and they’ve been engaged for four of them. At this point, their perpetual engagement has become something of a running joke.

“I can’t believe it,” he says. “What happened?”

“We found a place.”

“ _The_ place. It’s beautiful, Nicky,” Quỳnh tells him wistfully. “So save the date—May 30th. It’s the Saturday before Memorial Day.” 

“That’s amazing,” Nicky says. “I’ll be there. I’m so happy for you.” 

“So do we need to find you a hot date?” Andy asks. 

He feels his face heat up and hopes it doesn’t show through the screen. “No, actually. I just started seeing someone.” 

“Ooh, what’s his name?”

“Send pics!” 

“His name is Joe, and you’ll see him at the wedding, Andy.” 

“Fine,” she says, “have it your way. Just know I’ll have all my best embarrassing Nicky stories queued up.” 

“Is it serious?” Quỳnh asks. 

Nicky hesitates. “It’s new. But. It feels serious.”

Andy raises her eyebrows. “So does he know about your fibro?”

“ _Andy_.” 

“What?” Andy turns her face to return Quỳnh’s glare. “That’s like, the number one tell that Nicky’s gotten serious about someone.” 

“He doesn’t know yet,” Nicky says, voice tight.

“Hmm,” Andy says. Quỳnh doesn’t say anything, but she’s frowning a little.

“I told you. It’s new,” Nicky insists. “It’s not something you tell someone you’ve only known for a month. We _just_ decided to be exclusive—today. I will tell him. Soon.” 

“Ookay,” Andy says slowly. 

“If you really like him, you should tell him, Nicky,” Quỳnh says. Her voice is gentle, but Nicky can’t help but feel like she’s throwing the fact that he’s been in this situation several times before in his face.

“I will! Stop making this about me,” he says, determined to change the subject. “Tell me about the venue.” 

Andy narrows her eyes—she knows exactly what he’s doing—but Quỳnh is gracious enough to go along with the subject change, and Nicky spends the next ten minutes getting a detailed description of the seaside event center and weighing in on the proposed dinner menu. 

When they hang up, Nicky promises himself he’ll tell Joe the next time he sees him—and then he’ll tell Andy to fuck off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. More kinky shenanigans next time, I promise. For now, I'd still love to know what you thought, so drop a comment or hit me up on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


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